We cried blue murder at the time.
It was a crime against humanity,
Not an act of spontaneity
From the digits of a deity.

Still, the next week, each lunchtime,
We were all doing it.
Any aerial challenge became
An opportunity for divine intervention,
With an asphalt Ascension
Into a playground pantheon
Of class-war champions
Beckoning for anyone who could
Pull off a palm of providence
With confidence.

And although our clumsy
Sleights of hand were always exposed,
Like a bungled party trick,
It didn’t stop us from trying
To create artistry out of artifice.

I have weird thumbs. They’re at a funny angle to the rest of my hand, but that’s very me. There’s a lot about me that’s unique; that’s a funny angle to the rest of life.

In our elementary school, students picked instruments in third grade that they would play in fourth. I wanted to play one of the big brass band instruments. The older kids all sat in a line in the cafeteria—a flute, a tuba, a saxophone, an oboe, a bassoon and some sort of horn. I stopped in front of the girl who was playing the trumpet. She was a fifth grader, so much older than my third grade self. She was tall and pretty, with long blonde hair and preppy clothes; in other words, the complete opposite of me. I was short and a little pudgy, with brown hair and hand-me-down clothing.

You know, as women we are often under a HUGE pile of societal pressure to be any number of things: skinny, pleasing, non-threatening, wearing make-up, patient, kind, acquiescent. To me, the bottom line is that we are under this mountain of pressure to really be SEXY. Not some sort of reasonable standard for sexy, mind you. Crazy sexy. Media-hyped, airbrushed, unattainable sexy.

We are supposed to be ladies “in the street” and a “freak in the bed.”

“WE HAVE KILLED ALL THE MEN. STOP. MADE THEM JERK OFF INTO CUPS FIRST. STOP. WILL USE THEIR SPERM FOR ARTIFICIAL INSEMINATION UNTIL WE DISCOVER ASEXUAL REPRODUCTION OR HAVE PERFECTED CLONING. STOP.”

“WE HAVE BANNED ALL THE LITERARY CLASSICS. STOP. WE DO NOT WANT OUR CITIZENS DEVELOPING INTERNALIZED MISOGYNY BECAUSE OF THE GREAT GATSBY OR THAT DICK ERNEST HEMINGWAY. STOP. DID YOU KNOW ERNEST HEMINGWAY WAS A DICK. STOP.”

“WE WOULD LIKE TO EXTEND TO YOU A FORMAL INVITATION TO OUR ANNUAL ANDREA DWORKIN DAY CELEBRATIONS. STOP. PLEASE BRING YOUR OWN KNIVES FOR YOUR PARTICIPATION IN THE CEREMONIAL CASTRATION OF OUR SYMBOLIC PAPIER MACHÉ REPRESENTATION OF THE PATRIARCHY. STOP. AFTERWARDS THERE WILL BE A VEGAN MEAL SERVED IN THE TOWN SQUARE BECAUSE ANIMALS ARE OPPRESSED PEOPLE TOO. STOP.”

“WE HAVE BANNED ALL PHALLIC SYMBOLS. STOP. YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MANY THINGS LOOK PHALLIC WHEN YOU REALLY THINK ABOUT IT…

Dad requested this for Father’s Day because this is obviously the best way to show your adult children off to office staff. Obviously. And it wasn’t like we were going to deny him his wish for Father’s Day, I mean how cold hearted could you be. So this happened, and I have no regrets.

Tonight I’m watching soccer, england vs italy, and drawing on a new piece of art. Sometimes you can get inspiration on the weirdest of places. In the sofa infront of the tv can actually be a quite good place to start! A little distraction and some noice can be quite helpfull for some people while others need complete silence and no contact with the outer world while working. Which one are you? Noice vs Quiet? Extrovert vs Introvert?